When Mice Were Men
by The Illustrious Crackpot
Summary: Collabfic with Cacaxa. As usual, Pinky and Brain try to take over the world. And, as usual, they fail. But this time, failure means seeing the world through different eyes, and new experiences that might not all be pleasant.
1. The Best Laid Plans

_A/N from Crackpot: Well, I for one am surprised to be back here in this category quite so soon...I hadn't expected to return for a year or more. But here I am again, collaborating with fellow author Cacaxa on this new multi-chapter fic. And, since I have decided that I harbor an intense dislike of most of my older Pinky and the Brain fanfics, this'll be my chance to redeem myself before going back on break._

_As mentioned previously, this is a collabfic—I'll be writing the odd-numbered chapters, starting with this one, and Cacaxa will be working on the evens. So updates will be sporadic depending on how long we take on our respective chapters..._

_On another note, I apologize for the inaccuracies of the scientific information in this chapter. I had no time/desire to do extensive research á la Don Rosa, so I stretched the truth and made up a lot of stuff to fill in the gaps in my own knowledge and to make the events in the story seem somewhat plausible. If you happen to have any sort of cursory/in-depth knowledge on these subjects and/or happen to be a rocket scientist, please forgive me._

**When Mice Were Men**

(by The Illustrious Crackpot and Cacaxa)

**Chapter 1: The Best-Laid Plans...**

_Zzzt zzt. Zzzzt crackle snap. Zzt._

The incandescent yellow letters on top of the laboratory flickered on and off, emitting sparks with every exchange. Normally this would be a cause for concern, as passersby wondered whether or not a fuse had been blown or if something had gone wrong with the power lines or all manner of problems; however, at the same moment that the letters would blink off, another, brighter light would flash from that very same rooftop, blinding all who looked at it. Then it would be gone, and the display would light up again as if nothing had ever happened.

_Zzzzzt. Zzzt zzzzzzzzt._

"Oooooooooooh!" hiccuped a nasally voice from the roof of the lab, punctuated by a short "_Narf!_". Strangely enough, the voice emanated from a small white lab mouse, thin and scruffy, who was staring at the night sky with blurrily unfocused eyes. "Lookit all the pretty colors, Brain! My gosh, it's like watchin' Pink Floyd!"

There was a pause, and the display flickered back on, spelling out the name "ACME LABS" in capital letters. Just in front of them, a shorter, stouter mouse glowered over at his companion, clasping an electrical plug nearly half his size as he lifted a pair of improvised bottlecap goggles from his face.

"Pinky, I thought I told you _not_ to stare directly at the light."

Pinky blinked slowly, turning his head in the general direction of the other mouse. "_What_ light, Brain?"

Brain rolled his eyes, then forced the plug back into an outlet on the side of the rooftop display. Once more securing the goggles over his eyes, he turned back to the small, boxlike device that the cord was attached to and pressed a switch on it.

_ZZZZZZT!_

"_Ohhhhhh_, THAT light!" squeaked Pinky excitedly, his already-clouded eyes beginning to tear up. "Hahaha—_ouch!_"

Deciding to ignore the taller mouse, Brain instead continued fiddling with the device, adjusting wires, tightening screws with a Philip's-head and muttering irritably to himself.

"...not enough output, the frequency requires adjustment, power drain far too high for practical purposes—_tch!_" Unplugging the device again, Brain glanced at a small digital alarm clock seated on the roof near him. "And only a short while until midnight...everything _would_ have to go wrong at the last minute!" He bent back down to the machine, scrutinizing its interior. "Clearly _that_ must be rearranged, and those...those...I'm not sure _what_ I'm going to do with those...and over there..."

This monologue was of very little interest to Pinky, who had long ago learned to tune out his companion whenever he started getting all "technical". So he decided to try and entertain himself, something that he was usually very good at doing. But mere moments later, though spots were still pirouetting in front of his eyes, Pinky had grown bored with watching them, and suddenly he decided to satisfy his intellectual curiosity by posing the hardest question he could think of.

"Brain, who _is_ this mysterious muffin man that everyone seems to know?"

His mutterings unexpectedly cut off, Brain turned to stare at Pinky. "..._What?_"

Pinky started humming quietly, as though having completely forgotten about ever posing a question. After a moment, though, he looked back up and grinned radiantly at his slightly aggravated companion. "What'cha doin', Brain?"

Brain shook his head slowly, letting out a sigh. "Tell me, Pinky," he began, crossing his arms and leaning against the box-shaped machine, "does your mind retain _any_ knowledge, or do you have _enough_ trouble remembering how to breathe?"

The personal offense so cleverly concealed in that witty repartee whistled straight past the tall mouse. "Well, you _do_ have to admit that that _is_ a hard one."

Sighing again, the Brain rubbed his temples as though steeling himself to an incredibly monotonous task. "Look, Pinky, I'm going to try to make this _simple_ for you. Are you paying attention?" Pinky nodded, long tail wagging like a dog's. "Good. Now, tonight, we are going to _take over the world_"—here Brain pointed to his contraption—"using this ingenious machine of my own _humble_ invention."

Pinky paused, ears stiffening as he stared at the machine. "...Isn't that our VCR?"

Brain cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his gaze. "Wellllll..._yes_, Pinky, that _is_ the VCR, I suppose...but with some major _modifications_ to it, you understand!" He gestured emphatically to make his point. "See? I put a satellite dish on it!"

"Hmmmmmmm...nope." Pinky shook his head from side to side, singularly unimpressed. "You've gotta do better'n _that_, Brain. Cable guys do _that_ ALLLLLLLL the time."

Shoulders hunching reflexively, Brain tried desperately to repair his bruised ego. "O-of course, that's not the _only_ thing I've done to it! I've modified the guide rollers, altered the locations of the loading poles, added some..." He trailed off, noticing the glazed look in his companion's eyes, and decided to switch gears while he still had Pinky's attention. "At any rate, it is no longer a VCR, but something _more!_ Something so powerful, so _incredible_ that it will irrevocably change the course of the entire _WORLD!_"

Pinky gasped, springing bolt upright. "Oh, BRAIN!" he cried breathlessly, clasping his hands together in overwhelming exuberance. "You've invented _TIVO!_"

A pause.

"Well," Brain remarked dryly, "at least that unsolicited advertisement might put a quick buck in our pockets."

Shaking his head, he picked a piece of chalk off the ground and kneeled down, scratching out some primitive-looking sketches on the surface of the roof. "Perhaps this might work better with a visual aid..."

Pinky immediately sat up straighter. "OOOOOH! 'Re ya gonna _sing_, Brain?"

"No."

"Awwwwwwwwww..._pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?_"

"NO."

Pinky waited impatiently, bouncing lightly up and down where he sat, and after a while he sucked in a deep breath. "_PLEEEE_—"

The discussion ended when Pinky suddenly found his mouth full of chalk.

"Now pay attention, Pinky," Brain instructed, ignoring the coughing, choking and spitting going on just above him. He pointed to the first of his artistic failures, a stick figure with an incredibly large head and two big ears sticking out of it. It had a sad expression, and the sloppy crown drawn on the top of its head had been crossed out. "I'm sure that I will regret asking you this, but why do you think it is that we have never _once_ managed to take over the world?"

Still rubbing his throat, Pinky tried, "A successful plot formula?"

"...Perhaps I should confine these to merely _rhetorical_ questions." Brain shook his head, wondering how he put up with it each and every night. "No, Pinky. _More_ than that." He pointed at the next picture, which was a vaguely human-looking stick figure standing next to a very small mouse-shaped one. "It's because we are mere _mice_ attempting to take over the world of _humans_. Although these self-proclaimed _homo sapien_s can easily be convinced that we are of their own kind—clearly an argument against the power of evolution—the difference in species is all too apparent, preventing us from ever attaining true success."

He looked up and stared at Pinky expectantly. Pinky blinked back.

"_Well?_" demanded Brain tersely. "Don't you agree?"

His answer came in the form of a slow blink. "I think I understood about one out of every...ummm..." Pinky scratched his head. "How many words long was that, Brain?"

Very calmly, without even flinching, Brain picked up his screwdriver and clocked Pinky over the head with it. He waited patiently until Pinky appeared to have fully recovered, and then deigned to give his companion the condensed version. "We can't take over the world because they're _humans_ and we're _mice_."

After taking a short moment to fully ponder over the new information, Pinky nodded vigorously, indicating that he _could_, in fact, understand that concept. "Ah'right, sure, I c'n agree with that, yeah..." He hiccuped very slightly. "_Zort!_"

There was another long pause.

"Aren't you going to ask me how we're going to get _around_ that?" Brain asked at length.

Pinky shrugged. "I figured you'd get to that eventu'lly."

Rather than waste time arguing, Brain pointed at the next drawing, which showed the large-headed mouse figure holding up a box that looked not unlike the VCR-turned-diabolical-invention. "Using our VC—" He coughed self-consciously. "Er, using my invention, we shall _transcend_ this species barrier, breaking down the walls so that WE can become rulers of the superior species!"

Gasping excitedly to the point of hyperventilation, Pinky jumped up, nearly dancing in place. "_WE'RE GONNA RULE THE __**KLINGONS?!**_"

"NO, you simpleton!" Grabbing Pinky by the tail, Brain yanked him back to the ground, and, by grasping the top of the taller mouse's skull, he forced Pinky's attention towards the drawing just next to the "mouse-holding-the-box"—a stick figure human beside an arrow pointing towards another stick-mouse. "_Mice_ are the superior species! We must turn all the humans in the world into _mice!_ Their societies will crumble! They'll be helpless and confused, unable to comprehend their new, _superior_ state of being!"

And then came the last drawing—that same large-headed, large-eared mouse as the one in the first picture, but wearing a happy expression, and no "X" through _his_ crown.

"Don't you _see_, Pinky?" Brain went on more softly as he let go of Pinky's head, sounding very choked up with emotion. "They will elect _us_ as their leaders. Freely. Of their own volition. Because only _we_ will be able to show them how they _should_ live, what they _should_ do—Pinky, they will hang on to our every WORD!"

"...Uhhhhhhhhh-_huhhhhhhhhhhh_." Pinky nodded slowly, a familiarly blank expression creeping back onto his face. He _still_ wasn't entirely sure what Brain was talking about, but clearly it made Brain happy, so he supposed that that was good enough for him. "But, um, how're we gonna do _that—_" he asked, pointing to the "man into mouse" picture, "—with _that?_" He indicated the machine.

Straightening up and clasping his hands together, Brain sucked in a deep breath, strutting very proudly over to his invention. "My revolutionary Atomic Vibrational Regulator, Pinky," he began reverentially, placing a hand upon the satellite dish, "works in ways too complex for your pitifully small mind to contemplate, so it would be pointless to describe its functions to you." And yet, in characteristic fashion, he did so anyways. "To put it simply, using the satellite dish as its medium, this VC—ahem, this _machine_ will emit a vibrational frequency—a 'sound wave', in layman's terms—that can only be 'heard' at an atomic level. Upon encountering this vibration, atoms with certain specified characteristics will change into atoms with _different_ characteristics, and, if done properly, will change entire organisms into an entirely different species of life!" Here Brain's triumphant expression bordered on outright smugness, and he patted the Atomic Vibrational Regulator proprietarily. "Unless I am incorrect in my calculations (an extremely improbable circumstance, _if I do say so myself_), then the frequency I have wired my Regulator to emit is one that will, once utterly perfected, transform all of Burbank into a colony of _rodents_ rather than _men!_"

Privately, Pinky wondered if Brain would make up his mind and decide whether they were going to turn the people into mice or into rodents. But he didn't say as much out loud; he was very proud of himself for understanding quite as much of the explanation as he had, and didn't want to spoil it by being hit over the head again. Instead, he inquired curiously, "So all we gotta do is push a button an' everyone'll change?"

Brain rubbed his chin, either deep in contemplation or trying to convey the impression that he was. "...Nnnno, not _quite_, Pinky. The frequency produced by the machine isn't nearly powerful enough to completely alter the target atoms under normal circumstances; instead, we must strike when they are completely defenseless if we are to have any chance at success."

Leaning back, he pointed up at the sky, where a small, reddish star winked down at them. "Do you see that star up there, Pinky? That's a neutron star, which was formed by a recent supernova. Every so often it will emit radio waves—"

("FM or AM?" Pinky interrupted. "Does it get NPR?")

"—in pulses, which will only reach the Earth at select times. When this occurs, the resultant magnetic field will scramble atoms' own magnetic fields for the duration of a _single second_." Brain patted the machine again. "If the Atomic Vibrational Regulator is activated during that crucial second..."

He trailed off, unable to express the triumph that would be attained during that fateful moment.

Pinky cocked his head to the side, tiny gears whirling in his mind, and something started to nag at him. But he figured that it was just that peanut butter sandwich he'd eaten for lunch—it always took a while for food to settle in his stomach, especially if he'd found it in that jar-thingy labeled "Mold Samples". "When's this 'specific second', Brain?"

"Exactly at midnight," replied the Brain, still drifting in his whimsical fantasies. "And these conditions won't occur again for another three months."

"Exactly at midnight," Pinky repeated for good measure. "So we take over the world at midnight."

A wide, gleaming, slightly diabolical smile slipped across Brain's face. "_Yes_."

"Riiiiiiiiiiight at midnight."

"_YES!_"

Pinky let his attention wander over to the digital alarm clock, which blinked out the numbers "11:59:27". "Well then, you'd better get a move on, hadn't you?"

Brain's head snapped up as his daydreams dissolved, and a look of pure, cold horror exploded onto his face. "_What?_"

Seemingly unfazed, Pinky just continued to watch the clock, tail swishing placidly from side to side. "I mean, seein' as we've only got thirty seconds and all."

Silence reigned for a moment as the information registered in both of their minds. Then:

"_GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!_"

Brain began dashing wildly across the rooftop, gathering up odd tools and practically throwing himself at the machine in an attempt to finish the work in time. Pinky began dashing wildly across the rooftop as well, though this was more of an act of sheer panic than an attempt to do anything constructive. Giant, blinding sparks lit up the night again.

Twenty seconds.

Fifteen.

Ten.

Nine, eight, seven, six—

Brain threw the screwdriver to the side helplessly, delving back into the inner workings of the machine. "There's no _time!_ We simply have to start it up!"

—five, four, three—

Pinky's ears stiffened, and, making a massive U-turn, he started to run back to the machine. "I'LL TURN IT ON, BRAIN!"

—two, one—

Two white forms collided, tumbling over each other and into the Atomic Vibrational Regulator itself. Somehow, somebody's small pink hand slammed onto the switch, holding it down for the duration of a single second.

_Zero_.

The world exploded in light.

* * *

Slowly, very slowly, the Brain let out a groan. He started to move, then recoiled sharply as a pounding pain made itself known on the inside of his skull. Groaning again, he slumped back to the ground, triggering fresh waves of agonizing drumming.

That was one of the disadvantages of having a genetically-enhanced mind: bigger brain means bigger migraines.

Kneading his forehead with his fingertips, Brain slowly and shakily rose to a crouch. He tried opening his eyes a crack, but all he could see was smoke. Where had it come from?

And, as he shivered with a passing breeze, why was he so _cold?_

He staggered backwards slightly, and his foot hit something, which clattered away from him. Stooping—and trying to ignore the throbbing in his temples as he did so—Brain fumbled around in the obscurity and eventually managed to pick the object up.

It was the Atomic Vibrational Regulator—not that one could tell very easily. The VCR component was twisted and misshapen, with its inner workings spilling out even as he handled it, and the satellite dish was nowhere to be found. Not only that, but the cord that had allowed it to drain electricity from the rooftop display had snapped, dangling limply and shooting off sparks at random intervals. Thick smoke was pouring out of the video slot on the machine, and Brain had to hold it away from him to keep from coughing.

"Curses..." he muttered, "I _knew_ I should have made it out of something more resilient! But those fool scientists, keeping us running through those mazes all evening...don't they know that we have more _important_ things to do, like TAKING OVER THE WORLD?!"

There was a spluttering noise from somewhere else on the rooftop, and Brain stiffened immediately until a Cockney-accented voice choked out, "Brain? Izzat _you?_"

"_Pinky!_" Brain started to wave the smoke away, covering his eyes to keep them from tearing—then, all of a sudden, he stopped. By waving the smoke away, he was holding the (former) Atomic Vibrational Regulator with only one hand. That should have been absolutely impossible—he'd always had to use _both_ hands to carry it, and even _then_ he'd had to have Pinky on the other side to help him get it off the ground.

And why did it seem so much..._smaller?_

Without warning, the spluttering coughs became louder, and Brain looked up just in time to see a patch of smoke start to clear just a few yards in front of him. Then all his senses went on the alert—that was a _human_ standing on the roof! What if he'd heard their plan, or witnessed them implementing it?! They would be _ruined_, outed as talking lab mice, experimented on even more mercilessly to find out where the gene-splicing had gone right...or even incarcerated as threats to global security!

Brain quickly ducked behind the giant ACME LABS sign, the lights of which had gone dull from the massive power failure. Cautiously, he peeped out through a gap in the "B", searching for any sign of Pinky. He found none, but most of the rooftop was still covered in smoke, so the little mouse might already have found his own hiding spot...

Slowly, suspiciously, Brain turned his gaze to the human, trying to gauge whether or not he was a threat. It was hard to tell—he was tall, thin, and a bit gawky, like a teenager, but his face (what little of it could be seen behind the hands shielding it) didn't look particularly young or particularly old. What was even stranger was his _hair_, a tousled, messy mop of silvery-white. Was it even _possible_ for anyone to have that sort of hair color?

"Pinky, where _are_ you?" mumbled Brain, his grip tightening on the edge of the "B". He shivered again, put the Atomic Vibrational Regulator on the ground and started to rub his hands together quietly.

And stopped.

The giant "B"...he had been looking through the _upper_ hole in it. The _upper_ hole, which was several feet off the ground. Which he clearly was still standing on.

He looked down at his hands. They were a pale peach, not a pink. And the peach didn't end at his wrists like it was supposed to.

A scuffling sound caught his attention, and the Brain looked up to see the strange human stumbling blindly towards his hiding spot. On instinct, Brain crouched down, trying to stay out of sight—but the human wasn't even looking at him. He had removed his hands from in front of his face, since most of the smoke had dissipated, and now Brain could see his features clearly. Could see the overly-large, bulbous nose, and the two tombstone teeth protruding from his upper lip. And when the human opened his eyes, they were large and oblong—and tinted _blue_.

"Pinky...?" Brain breathed quietly.

The human straightened slightly, looking around. Then his gaze met Brain's, and he jumped.

"_Narf...?_"


	2. Often Go Awry

_[A/N from Cacaxa: Hello, online people! Cacaxa here! This is my first real fanfiction (or collabfic, for that matter) I've ever written, so I'm a little nervous. But finally, here's the second chapter..._

**Chapter 2: ...Often Go Awry **

"You know my name!" he squealed.

Brain began to panic. "No—No—t-this can't be happening!" he yelled aloud. "We are not-We _can't_ be—" He paused. "Good Lord! I think I'm going to get sick."

Brain started to choke.

"Please don't," Pinky pleaded. " 'Cause if you do, that'll be really yucky." He made a face of disgust.

Brain looked back at Pinky. "Pinky? Is that _really_ you?"

"Hey!" Pinky frowned. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Pinky! It's me, Brain!" he cried, and stood up, rather clumsily.

He stared up at Pinky, who was taller than Brain by at least one or two feet. He was wearing the same thoughtful frown Brain saw quite often—when Pinky was trying to remember something.

"You're not the Brain. He's a lab mouse," he replied.

"I _am_ a lab mouse! Pinky, it's really me!" Brain added, frustrated.

"You're not a lab mouse either, though."

Brain slapped his hand over his face—stupidly hurting himself. He cringed.

"You really shouldn't do that, y'know," Pinky said. "My friend Brain does that _all_ the time, and he always hurts himself."

"I know because I _am _Brain!" Brain replied angrily. "Look. Pinky, I swear to you that it's me, Brain."

He stared Pinky straight in the eyes for a moment, until Pinky's face suddenly broke into a smile.

"Brain! It_ is_ you!" He held his arms out.

"No, Pinky—!"

Pinky grabbed Brain and brought him into a big hug—in which he nearly suffocated Brain to death.

Using all his strength, Brain pushed him away and coughed as he started to breathe again. "Pinky!" he panted. "You—You have _got_ to STOP DOING THAT!"

"Sorry—_Narf!_" Pinky said, his grin fading. "I just missed you, that's all."

Brain finally got a chance to look around once more. He was still standing with Pinky on the roof of the Acme Labs, still covered with the destruction of the Atomic Vibrational Regulator. But how the machine had malfunctioned was anyone's guess.

The wind blew by once again. Pinky shuddered, goosebumps coming onto his skin.

"Brain, how come it's so cold?"

Brain glared at Pinky. "You don't even know what _happened_ to us?"

Pinky stared at Brain, blinking his eyes. "Of _course_ I do, Brain. When the big-machine-thingy exploded, it singed our fur off!"

"No it _DIDN'T_" Brain yelled. "It turned us into _HUMANS_! Look at yourself!"

Pinky looked, realized the truth, and gave a small yelp of surprise. "My t-tail—Where is it?!" He spun around a few times, trying to find it. Brain stopped him.

"Now, Pinky, I want you to actually _think_ Do you remember _anything_ about that explosion earlier?" he asked Pinky.

Pinky thought for a moment. "Well—" he started. The Brain sighed, thinking he was in for another one of Pinky's long, forgettable stories—either that or Pinky couldn't remember a thing. "Y'know—_Troz!_—I can't remember a thing! But I think it had something to do with me pressing the switch on the machine—_Poit!—_I _think_..." Pinky trailed off.

"Great, just _excellent!_" the Brain yelled to himself derisively. "My brilliant plans failed _again,_ we're stuck as humans for three whole_ months_, we have absolutely _no _idea how it happened, and I don't know how to _fix_ it!" He then gasped. "Three months!"

"What?"

"Three months! We have to be able to fix it in three months and use it at that crucial second, or else the atoms will retain their new properties and the transformation becomes..._permanent!_"

Just then, Pinky's normally happy face changed to a look of utter terror.

"Oh no..."

Brain was about to answer back when they heard a loud voice from nearby, startling them.

"Hey! You two!"

Two middle-aged, overweight men (scientists, of course, since they were both wearing lab coats) were standing on the roof watching them. Both of them were coming towards them, and one was shouting at them (and both shocked at the fact the two former lab mice weren't exactly _clothed_).

"What're you doing here? Civilians aren't supposed to be here! There's top-secret experiments' going on here! Crazy trespassers! You're coming with us!"

Pinky gave a look of utter fear and panic, and quickly whispered to Brain. "What do we do?" 

Brain quickly thought up a plan. He grabbed the (now useless) Atomic Vibrational Regulator and threw it at the two approaching scientists, knocking them to the ground and out cold.

He then motioned to Pinky to come over to help him as he stared to drag one of the scientists to the stairs leading into the lab. But Pinky stood with his hands on his hips, unmoving.

"Brain, that wasn't very nice!"

Brain ignored him. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," he simply said, and Pinky followed, dragging the other scientist along.

After taking the 2 scientists' clothes (yet leaving their lab coats for decency) Brain started to turn, buttoning his coat, pulling Pinky after him. Pinky obediently followed Brain away.

"Where are we going?" he asked, buttoning his own coat.

'Where else? The city. We need to fix the machine—as soon as possible," he said quietly, not looking back.

They walked in silence for a minute or two until Pinky spoke up. "Y'know—you really don't, um, well, you don't really look as—OLD—as I thought you were."

The Brain seemed to ignore him so he started to hum to the tune of "Just Say Narf". Instead, Brain rolled his eyes and continued walking.

As they passed by a mirror, Brain looked back at himself again. "So," he said quietly. "We're stranded as humans, we have no idea how it happened, and we have to fix the machine in three months."

He looked at Pinky who was rubbing his stomach. "Yeah," he replied. "And y'know what? I'm hungry."


	3. Dubious Delirium

_A/N from TIC: Sorry the chapter took so long...I've really got to start watching the show again..._

**Chapter 3: Dubious Delirium**

While not exactly the poshest or most extravagant hotel in Burbank, the Staldrof Wasstordia was a reasonably well-furnished dwelling, with smoothly-glazed coffee tables squatting unobtrusively at knee height and pleasantly-arranged vases of flowers in _exactly_ the right places. During the day, quiet people usually milled quietly about the reception area, doing quiet little things like solving crossword puzzles or disarming time bombs that had been found (rather demurely) underneath a pair of seat cushions. But, seeing as it was nearly one in the morning, the entire lobby was dark, and the receptionist—a young woman with neat sandy hair pulled up in a ponytail—had drifted off to sleep, head lolling on her desk.

...She was _new_ on the job.

The woman was also a heavy sleeper, as she very easily snored through the crashes, pile-ups and police sirens blaring outside amidst the fair California traffic. She didn't stir when a large potted plant tipped over and crashed onto the floor a mere ten feet from where she was seated. Nor did she wake up when several large paintings toppled off the wall behind her, nor when the sound of clatteringly awkward tap dancing reverberated across the lobby, or even when someone started making _airplane noises_ just above her head.

Finally there was a sigh, and a strained voice whispered, "I dun' think she's gonna wake up, Brai—"

The woman shot straight up. "_WHO'S THERE?!_"

There was a cry, and a little crash, and the receptionist clicked her desk light on to see two figures sprawled on top of another devastated plant. They quickly scurried to their feet—(_Two men?_ she thought, or were they _boys?_)—keeping just out of the range of the circle of lamplight. It didn't matter, though; their matching silvery-white hair seemed to glow in the dark, like their oddly-tinted eyes.

"My companion and I wish to rent a room," stated the shorter male matter-of-factly.

The woman blinked.

The stranger seemed to take this as a sign that she didn't understand him, so he leaned forwards, making sure to enunciate every syllable as plainly as he could. "My. Companion. And. I. Wish. To. Rent. A. _Room_."

Rather than being hard of hearing, however, the woman was more hypnotized by their _appearances_. Granted, their exotic hair and eyes, as well as the clear paleness of their skins, were attention-grabbers on their own...but their _clothes!_ The collared, checkered shirts were several sizes too large even for the _taller_ one, but the short guy was nearly DROWNING in his! Their dress slacks were of similar make, and the duo were utterly devoid of belts, so the shorter one was practically holding his pair up by the waistband, clutching a..._thingamajig_ of some sort in his other hand. The taller one, however, apparently had no concept of decency, as he didn't even _bother_ to keep HIS pants hiked up—they were hanging somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.

That one, she decided, was _definitely_ a teenager.

It didn't take long for the short stranger to get irritated, and soon he slammed his fist on the desk, glaring up at the woman...though quickly removing his fist in order to regain his grip on his trousers. "I warn you," he warned, his gaze nearly boring holes into her forehead, "I shall only repeat this _once more_, and THAT only because my companion has had a harrowing night and I doubt he would enjoy sleeping on the _sidewalks_ when—"

"Oh, no, I _like_ the sidewalks, Brain!" the nearly-pantsless boy protested, clasping his hands innocently behind his back and rocking back and forth on his heels. "I mean, where else can you get that nice, granite-y feelin' in your toes?"

The short man—"Brain"?—turned to glower at his companion in the half-light, then shook his head, muttering distastefully, "For Nobel's _sake_, Pinky, pull up your pants."

"Pinky" cocked his head to the side, blinking slowly, as if trying to absorb a foreign concept. "..._Pants?_"

"Those things on your _legs_. You know what your LEGS are, don't you?"

The receptionist just kept looking from one to the other, still almost half-asleep and so a bit more at ease with the situation that she would have been had she had full command of her senses. "...I'm on one of those camera shows, aren't I?" she mused at length, stifling a yawn. "Or is this just some kind of fraternity prank?"

This directed both the strangers' attention back at her, the tall boy gasping indignantly. "We ain't _rats!_ We're MICE! Of _ALL_ the—"

The shorter one elbowed him sharply. "Excuse my friend," he stated to the woman through gritted teeth, "the doctors have informed me that he's incurable but _harmless_." Taking advantage of her momentary confusion, he slipped in, "Now, about that _room_...?"

The receptionist sighed. Might as well go _with_ it, she decided, and responded automatically, "Single or double?"

...Then she remembered that she was addressing two _males_.

"Oh—oh, _sorry!!_" she apologized flusteredly, jolted further awake in her mortification. "I—I didn't mean to sound like I—oh, _please_ don't take that the wrong way, I just—"

Both strangers blinked, seeming just a little bit bemused, though the shorter one hid it slightly better. They exchanged glances, seemed to come to some unspoken conclusion, and the short man turned back to the receptionist. " 'Single' is cheaper, right?"

She hadn't expected _that_. "Ummmm...yes...?"

"Then we'll take that."

This knocked the poor woman almost _completely_ off her guard, and she nearly tumbled out of her chair before she reminded herself that it was probably just a dream anyways. "W-well...well, all right then," she replied, still a bit dazed even in her half-conscious state, and fumbled around on her desk until she managed to find the sheet headed "Guest List". Another excavation revealed a pen, which she hovered just over the paper. "Names?"

Without warning, the taller male was leaning right over her, practically jumping up and down in excitement. "_MISTER AN' MISSUS SMITH!_"

"PINKY!!" The shorter man delivered a swift kick to his companion's ankle before directing his attention to the receptionist once again. "That'll be 'The Brain' and 'Pinky', _if you will_."

The woman started to write, then stopped, deliberated over whether or not it was worth writing down even if it _was_ just a dream or a prank or something, then finally sighed and put the pen down. "...I'm sorry, but I can't take nicknames."

"_Nicknames?_" The man sounded indignant—no, BEYOND indignant! "NICKNAMES?!" Eyes blazing, he lifted a fist in anger before remembering to return it to his slipping waistband. "My good woman, I'll have you know that 'The Brain' is my _given_ name, and I'll—"

Before he could finish, his companion tapped him on the shoulder, bending down to whisper something in his ear. The short man blinked once or twice, and they had a small exchange so hushed that the drowsy woman didn't hear a word. But at length the strangers returned their attention to her, and, seeming reluctant but determined, the shorter one spoke.

"_Brian and Peter Mouskowitz._"

* * *

The key had some difficulty twisting, but soon enough the door swung open to reveal a small, but suitably spacious room, a king-sized bed dominating the far corner while the entryway was cluttered with more of the decorative but tiresome coffee tables that had been in the lobby. However, one of these coffee tables was flanked by a small refrigerator, which Pinky made a beeline for, his trousers finally falling fully to the floor as he scurried over.

"Pinky, is the idea of _modesty_ so immense for your tiny cranium to comprehend?" Brain complained wearily, stowing the door key into his own slipping slacks before bending to pick up the remains of Pinky's. Completely oblivious, the pantsless Pinky was kneeling in front of the fridge and perusing its contents thoroughly—more than likely, the room's previous occupant had stored the items there, and nobody had bothered to clean it out afterwards.

Brain deliberated over whether or not to inform his companion that most of the snacks had probably expired, but, upon seeing his companion already scarfing down a moldy-looking fruit cup, decided not to. After all, it was nothing that the gawky mouse—_the gawky HUMAN_, he mentally corrected himself—couldn't digest.

"Mmmm-mmm-MMMMMMM, _yummy_," Pinky was gushing, fervently licking up the sticky trails of peach juice congealing on his chin. "Oh, Brain, these're _great!_ I've been _starvin_'...I haven't eaten in HOURS!!"

"I admire your fortitude."

Brain dropped into an armchair, and his own unattended pants dropped down to his ankles. He snatched at them, deliberated a moment, looked around to see if there was anything nearby that he could convert into a belt...then just gave up and let them slide off. He was "decent" enough, since his stolen shirt went all the way down to his knees, and it wasn't like Pinky would mind. He probably wouldn't even notice.

So Brain got down to business, gingerly setting the remains of the Atomic Vibrational Regulator onto one of those irritating (but convenient) coffee tables. The machine was certainly in a sorry state. Even after combing the rooftop thoroughly, the most they'd been able to find of the satellite dish had been the "dish" part itself, with no sign of the tower or wires that had connected it to the Regulator in the first place. As well, though the VCR had been badly damaged before, its subsequent meeting with the scientists' heads had put several huge dents in it, and it looked as though even more of its inside pieces had gone missing. Brain groaned, rubbing his hand through his hair. Very likely, he'd have to replace _all_ of the components, and that would mean tracking down that particular model of VCR and that _specific_ kind of satellite dish, both of which had been obsolete for several years and thus harder to find.

And the entire Regulator had to be fixed in _three months_.

Then it finally hit him, and he stiffened with shock, his blood running colder than ice.

_HE WAS GOING TO BE A __**HUMAN**__ FOR __**THREE MONTHS.**_

Just as Brain's hands had started twitching and a torrent of sweat had started cascading down his forehead, Pinky did something utterly unexpected—he yawned. Very widely, and very loudly, so much so that it actually jolted Brain out of his impending mental breakdown.

"WHOOOOOOOO-_boy_, 'm'I _tired_, Brain!" He yawned once more for good measure, stretching his arms out so far that it looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets. "I'm goin'a' bed. You comin'?"

The Brain nodded stiffly, his movements suddenly seeming jerky and alien. This body wasn't his. He wasn't _meant_ to have it. It was only on pure instinct that he was able to get it to rise from the armchair and shuffle clumsily to the bed in the corner, slipping beneath the sheets on the far left of the bed just as Pinky clicked the lights off and got in on his own side.

As he lay in that bed, his cheek on his pillow and his back to his companion, Pinky too was experiencing very deep thoughts. They were massive, _immense_, and so outside his normal realms of musing that they frankly _frightened_ the newly-human creature.

He couldn't take it. He had to ask.

"...Brain?"

A groan came from the other side of the bed. "What is it, Pinky?"

"Where do stars go during the daytime?"

All was silent for a moment, then Brain took in a deep breath and recited mechanically, "They don't _go_ anywhere, Pinky. They're still in the same place. We just can't see them from the ground because of the subtle workings of the Earth's atmosphere."

"Oh."

There was another pause.

"...They 'turn invisible', Pinky."

"Oh, okay."

The covers shuffled slightly as Pinky moved his feet, trying (out of habit) to find his tail to grasp between the two. Outside, a car honked its horn, and another's tires squealed abominably as someone braked in a hurry.

"Brain?"

Another groan. "_Yes_, Pinky?"

"D'ya think mimes really can't talk? Or are they just _pretendin_' they can't?"

Once more the covers scuffled, but this time they were being pulled over to Brain's side of the bed as he tried to use them to cover his ears.

"I'm sure I don't _know_, Pinky. Now will you TRY to get some sleep?"

He _did_ try—he really did, massaging the side of his face with his palm like his mother used to do when he had trouble falling asleep. But at length the movement slowed, and ceased, and the hand fell limply to the pillow.

"...Brain?...We're _humans_ now, i'in't we? I keep fergettin'..."

Brain didn't answer for a moment, but the fists clenching his covers tightened.

"Yes, Pinky, we _are_. For the next...three...MONTHS."

"...Uh-_huh_..."

The soft acquiescence trailed off into nothingness, ending in an anxious squeak.

"Brain...d'ya think we're _ever_ gonna be mice again?"

This time, there was no reply.


	4. Morning Mania

_A/N from Cacaxa: Hello again! I'm really sorry it took so long... Here's the next exciting installment... _

**Chapter 4: Morning Mania**

The morning sun rose over the city of Burbank, California, covering the entire city in its warm, yellow light. Some of the light came through the windows of the Staldrof Wasstordia, entering the room of 2 former lab mice...

The flood of light slowly woke Pinky up. He sat up slowly, yawned, rubbed his eyes to get rid of the sand, and stretched his arms.

"It's morning!" he said happily, and he abandoned the warm fuzziness of the bed and walked a few steps, opening the door to the hallway and stepping outside, and looked around a few times and blinked before realizing that this wasn't their cage back in the lab...

"Where are we?" he yelled, and rushed back into the room, shaking Brain, who was almost startled out of a deep sleep.

"Brain!" Pinky yelled. "Brain!"

"...What?" Brain asked drowsily, still not fully awake.

"We got trouble! We're..." he looked around for a second before the events of the previous night came to him.

"...Oh,_ now_ I know where we are!" Pinky cried.

Brain (being an extremely deep sleeper) sighed, and promptly fell back asleep.

Pinky then heard a slight gurgling sound. He looked around for the source of the noise, but when he heard it again, he realized it was his stomach growling.

With this knowledge, he went to the small fridge to see if there was anything good to eat in there. He found another fruit cup, and after devouring it, found that he was still hungry.

The scent of cheese came wafting through the hall, and although he was a human in physical appearance, he still had the senses (and mind) of a mouse, so he followed the scent of the cheese down the hallway, leaving Brain behind.

* * *

The Staldrof Wasstordia's kitchen was a clean and tidy place, except for a few misplaced items here and there. All the cooks and kitchen staff were busy, preparing for the big breakfast rush in an hour.

Pinky quietly snuck inside the kitchen—his mouse instincts kicking in—and quickly hid behind a large box, out of everyone's sight.

He then saw one of the staff, a woman named Shirley (he saw her name tag due to his keen mouse eyesight) carry a large plate of cheese—the _sacred_ cheese—the _Mother Of All Cheeses_—the scent of which his supersensitive nose had caught-and place it on a nearby table.

But, unfortunately for him, this table, and his food choice, was in the middle of the room, and in the heaviest of the foot traffic.

But still, since everyone was too busy to notice much, he tried to rush as quickly as he could, grab even a _piece _of the glorious cheese, and get out as quickly as possible.

He would've made it, too, if he hadn't accidentally slipped on the recently polished floor.

"Woahhhhhhh!!" Pinky cried, and slid across the floor, knocking down several people down in the process.

This (and the crash of plates that resulted), caught everyone's attention, and all eyes were on Pinky, who scrambled to his feet, grabbed a piece of the cheese, and dashed out the door.

Shirley led the charge:

"STOP!! THIEF!!

* * *

Brain finally woke up from a glorious dream—a dream where he'd _finally _managed to take over the world.

He initially didn't know where he was, but he, like Pinky, quickly recalled the events of the last few hours.

He turned to his side.

"Pinky?"

When he didn't find Pinky after searching the room and calling him a few times, he started to worry. Pinky had a talent for getting himself in trouble.

After catching the same scent of cheese that Pinky did, and hearing what sounded like Pinky screaming and people yelling "Thief!" coming from the hallway, he realized that Pinky's love of cheese probably already got himself in trouble...

"PINKY!!" he screamed.

He quickly grabbed his pair of stolen pants and stepped out into the hallway, ready for anything.

* * *

Pinky was still running from the angry mob of kitchen employees, stolen cheese in his hand, trying to get back to the room he and Bain had and lock the door before the mob got in.

Just then, Brain stepped out of the doorway, and Pinky turned a corner and Brain saw Pinky barreling towards him at full speed, with a mob armed with various kitchen implements close behind.

"BRAIN!! HELP!!" Pinky yelled in panic, flailing his arms wildly.

Brain barely had time to react. Pinky crashed into Brain, and they both crashed onto the floor. Brain shook it off, and saw the hotel managers coming their way (they'd heard and seen the mob chasing Pinky and one of the mob had taken the time to explain what happened.)

"Pinky, what did you _do_?" Brain groaned.

Pinky quickly tried to duck behind Brain. He whimpered.

"Hide me!" he begged.

The hotel management reached them, and two security guards (who were even taller then Pinky) grabbed Pinky by the shoulders.

Brain saw the hotel manager, whose name was Kevin—Brain knew this because the man's tag read "Hotel Manager" and "Kevin" in rather large letters—strode in front of Pinky and yelled "Thief! You're coming with us!"

Pinky looked at Kevin with fear in his eyes, and gave a terrified look to Brain, and Brain ran in front of the lead hotel manager to try to help Pinky.

"He didn't mean what he did. He..." Brain struggled to think of the right words. "He has a severe case of mental deficiency and stupidity. He knows not what he does and knows not to whom he speaks."

Kevin glared down at Brain, trying to see if he was lying. "Is that _true_?_"_

Brain stared Kevin down and truthfully said, "...Yes."

Kevin seemed convinced. "Then in this case, I'll make an exception." He motioned to the 2 guards to let Pinky go, and they did so.

He leaned in closer to Brain. "If something like this _ever _happens again," Kevin said, anger in his voice, "he won't get off so easily."

He turned to leave, and asked, "By the way...What are your names?"

Brain was shocked by the question. "Well..." He pointed to Pinky "He's...Peter, and..." He motioned to himself. "I'm...Brian..."

Kevin seemed placated. "Well then, Brian, you'd better keep a watchful eye on Peter..." He then yelled: "_OR ELSE _BOTH_ OF YOU ARE GONNA BE THROWN OUT!!_"

He and the mob then left.

After they were out of sight and earshot, tears welled up in Pinky's eyes. He turned to Brain, and lifted him up as he hugged him. "OH THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!" he squealed.

Brain tried to wriggle of Pinky's grasp. "Let me go, Pinky," Brain warned, "or I shall have to hurt you."

"Sorry, Brain," Pinky apologized, and let he Brain down.

Brain dusted himself off, and motioned to Pinky to follow him.

"Come, Pinky, there's much we need to accomplish today."

"Like what?" Pinky asked, as Brain walked down the corridor, following him closely.

"We need to get replacement components for the Regulator...and more appropriate clothes...at a place were people waste their money buying things at egregious prices, laze around, and generally waste their time window shopping."

Pinky's face lit up instantly.

"Ya mean...we're goin' to the mall?"

Brain grimaced slightly.

"Yes, Pinky...the _mall_..."


	5. Mall Rats

(TIC: Again, I cannot apologize enough for how long these chapters keep taking. T.T This is why I always wait to finish stories before I actually post them.)

**Chapter 5: Mall Rats**

"_Won't you take me to/Funkytowwwwwwwwwwn?/Won't you take me to/Fun-ky-TOWNNNNNNNNNN..."_

The music reverberated tinnily from the speakers inside the bus, bouncing off the rusty walls and piercing its way shriekingly into passengers' internal organs. Not surprisingly, Pinky was bopping enthusiastically to it. Also not surprisingly, Brain clapped his hands over his ears and gritted his teeth. "_Why_ must humans be so enamored of those blasted _singing chipmunks??_"

"But they got such cute _voices_, Brain!" Pinky gushed, dancing away the last strains of the music before suddenly (and a bit unwisely) grabbing his companion's shoulders and shaking vigorously. "Awwwww, I _know_ you like 'em TOO! _ZORT!_"

Brain scowled, slapping Pinky's hands away. "Of _course_ I do," he drawled irritably. "Just as much as I enjoy getting run over by a _freight engine_." The short man twisted around, trying to see past Pinky and through the grimy, bug-splattered window. "At least we're nearly at our stop."

Perfectly on cue, the music cut out, and instead a voice blared, _"All out for the Ken Memorial Mall, watch your step please..."_ The bus began to slow down, emitting various puffing and popping noises that sounded suspiciously unsafe, but nobody seemed to notice.

"Why do they call it the Ken Memorial Mall, Brain?" inquired Pinky as the two struggled out of their gum-covered seats and into the aisle.

"Because this is where Barbie maxed out all his credit cards."

The vehicle never actually came to a full halt while Pinky and the Brain were still on it—instead, it inexplicably sped up the moment they got near the driver's seat, and they had to sprint through the doors before they scissored shut. Which, of course, resulted in both of them losing their balance and somersaulting into the middle of the street, where they had to lunge for the curb before they got run over by a truck.

Brain glowered fiercely at the departing vehicle, rising to his feet and irritably brushing flecks of tar off his sleeves. "Accursed public transportation..."

He turned to make a remark to Pinky, but, upon seeing that the tall human's shirt was in an even sorrier state than his own (and that Pinky had, conversely, done even less about it), the Brain began to annoyedly but diligently brush him down.

And that was when he came to a crucial revelation.

"Pinky, where are your pants?"

Pinky blinked, then jumped slightly before bending nearly double to stare at the conspicuously bare knees poking out from underneath his shirt. Finally both his gaze and the Brain's trailed back towards the street...and the eighteen-wheeler disappearing around a corner with a pair of gray dress slacks flapping off of its bumper.

"..._Well_," began Pinky at length, his confidence ebbing as high as it always did even considering the circumstances, "at least _he'll_ have somethin' to talk about when he gets home!"

Though there were few people walking the streets at such an early hour, the presence of two silver-haired, not-quite-young-and-not-quite-old men wearing horrendously oversized clothing—and one of them now not even _fully_ dressed—was still a definite attention-grabber, and the two were already attracting some interested onlookers. So Brain had to roughly grab Pinky by the elbow and haul him through the doors of the mall before anyone got too curious for their own good.

Once inside, it got harder and harder for the Brain to keep a hold on his companion, for the taller human was so excited by all of the sights and sounds of the Ken Memorial Mall that he kept trying to scamper off, ecstatic over such things as the security cameras and the toy departments' displays and even just a kiosk full of back-scratchers. Of course, he'd seen all of that and more on other trips to other malls during his life, but this was new and exciting. He was finally _big_ enough to play with all these things without having to worry about them collapsing on top of him! He could actually reach shelves without having to climb all the way up with a little paperclip grappling hook!

Needless to say, this completely unbounded enthusiasm made the job of "staying low-profile" about as easy as if they'd been wearing propeller beanies in the midst of a crowd of Amish people. But somehow or other they fought through—well, _Brain_ fought through; Pinky was _dragged_ through—some sort of clothing store and into a changing stall, Brain locking the door behind them and panting considerably.

Pinky sat down on the bench, cocking his head to the side. "Well—_Poit!_—if you wanted some _privacy_, Brain, we coulda' just stayed at the hotel."

Brain ignored him, instead hefting a bundle of clothing he'd snatched off random racks during their journey across the store. "Here," he directed gruffly, tossing the pile onto the bench beside Pinky and, turning to face the wall, starting to undo the buttons on his shirt. "Try to find something that fits. Once you have, remove all the price tags, as well as _anything_ that looks at _all_ like a mall security device." His eyes also wandered to the..._other_ package he'd picked up, and though the tips of his ears started to turn a slight pink, he went on as nonchalantly as possible. "And don't forget the underwear."

Pinky stopped in the middle of pulling on a bright red t-shirt to stare carefully at the back of Brain's head. "Why?"

This time the heat started creeping across the rest of the Brain's face, and his reply was altogether too rushed. "Because although we did not require them in our rodential form, now that we're hu...that we're in _these bodies_, actually wearing undergarments may prove more comfortable than doing as we ha—"

"No, not _that_." As unusual as it was, Pinky's voice was hard and serious, and his eyes were boring accusing holes into the back of Brain's neck. "_Why are we removin' the tags an' stuff from the clothes?_ ...We _are_ going to pay for them, aren't we?"

For a moment, Brain didn't answer.

"We HAD to take those scientists' clothes 'cus we didn't have nothin', an' we needed to get out," Pinky pressed. "But now we got _money_, Brain, from those wallets."

Suddenly Brain straightened, and his hands started working again at his buttons so quickly that one almost forgot that they'd been still just a moment before. "Of _course_ we're paying for them, Pinky," he replied smoothly, but didn't turn around. "It's just that we need _more_ money first. And _nobody_ would give us more money if we were dressed like we are now."

Still Pinky hesitated...but, reluctantly, he slid the shirt the rest of the way over his head. "...We're going to pay _later_," he clarified slowly, but there was more than a hint of command in his voice.

"Yes, Pinky. We'll pay later."

"_Promise?_"

"...I promise."

* * *

Even after his unexpected assertation of moral character, Pinky ended up taking much longer choosing a wardrobe than the Brain had, feeling obliged to try on every article of clothing he could find and then trying them all on _again_ just to be sure. That was what he was in the process of doing when Brain eased the stall door open, the bundle of clothing they'd taken from the scientists hidden away in the crook of his arm. He himself was dressed in a brown suit coat and slacks, with a plain white collared shirt underneath. It was simple. It was distinguished. It was the only thing small enough to fit him.

Very quietly, Brain slid into the changing area, shutting the stall door behind him. He glanced at the bundle in his arm, his chest squeezing guiltily. He could have just left them in their changing stall, but Pinky's sermon had left him feeling oddly repentant...

With a start, he shook his head furiously, trying to clear those thoughts from his mind. _No! It has NOTHING to do with Pinky! It's just..._ He faltered. _...more _economical_ to put them on the shelves. It's NOTHING to do with "paying them back" by giving them clothes in exchange for those we took! NOTHING!_

That issue cleared up, he started to stride purposefully towards the nearest rack—but a sudden "PING!" from the mall loudspeakers made him jump with surprise, and he halted in his tracks. However, there was a few seconds' bout of silence after this "PING!", so Brain just shook his head grumblingly and proceeded on his way.

But when the announcement actually came on, he froze again, the bundle swaying limply in his grasp.

**"****ATTENTION MALL SHOPPERS, SECURITY GUARDS AND OTHER MALL PERSONNEL: BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR A PAIR OF DANGEROUS CRIMINALS REPORTED ESCAPING FROM ACME LABS LAST NIGHT AFTER INCAPACITATING AND ROBBING TWO SCIENTISTS. THEY ARE PRESUMED TO BE ARMED AND DANGEROUS, AS WELL AS POSSIBLY INSANE. NO PRECISE DESCRIPTIONS ARE AVAILABLE AS OF YET, BUT THEY ARE PRESUMED TO BE WEARING XXL-SIZED COLLARED, CHECKERED SHIRTS, ONE BLUE AND ONE..."**

Brain didn't even have to listen after that—he knew without looking that those were the same clothes he was currently clutching under his arm. He started to back slowly towards the entrance to the changing area. They couldn't just leave the clothes lying around. It would be irrefutable evidence that he and Pinky had been there, which could allow the police to track them down and capture them.

And it would be very hard to change themselves back in their three-month time limit if they were locked up in prison for thirty years.

There was a trash can next to him. Slipping his hand underneath the lid, he popped it open, glancing furtively around for anyone who might be watching. There was no one. He lifted his bundle.

"Hiya, Brain! _Narf!_"

Faster than lightning, Brain shoved the pile of clothes into the can and shut the lid, whirling around to face Pinky. He was wearing the red T-shirt he'd tried on first, with a pair of long blue jeans and a baseball cap. "What'cha doin'?"

"Nothing, Pinky," Brain replied quickly, removing his hands from behind his back as if to prove he wasn't hiding anything. Pinky certainly seemed cheerful enough that he could have forgotten about his previous outburst, but still...

"Okay!" the tall human chirruped, bouncing lightly up beside his companion. Brain fought down the urge to try to hide the trash can from sight. "What're we gonna do now?"

"N-_nothing!_" The words were out again before the Brain could do anything about them, so, in an effort to divert attention from his mistake, he began to lead Pinky towards the department exit—and away from the trash can. "I—I mean, um...an electronics store! Y-yes, of course, we have to...get to an electronics store...to find the necessary components..."

He trailed off, tensing slightly as they neared the security gates—but no alarms went off, and they passed out of the department undetected. Pinky just chattered on excitedly, still in awe of his surroundings and not particularly noticing that his companion's heart was pulsing guiltily in the bottom of that aluminum wastebin.

_...I'm sorry, Pinky._

"_TROZ!_ Look, Brain—_puppies!_"

Trying to hold him back was useless—Pinky was a hurricane of pure unbridled energy, and within seconds he was smushed against the pet store window, cooing and making faces at the little Labrador puppies prancing about in the foremost display. Brain groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead...and for an instant it seemed almost like the past, with him heading towards his goal of world domination, and Pinky getting distracted by something trivial at the pivotal moment—

A second more in his fantasy and he would have cried out _"Stop! Pinky, what are you doing?"_, but that second was long enough that he felt starkly the smooth pink skin under his hand, brushed only by gossamer strands of hair. It was not the thickly white fur that should have been there. _Nothing that should have been there..._

Except for that faithfully familiar voice calling out as it had so many times in the blessed past.

"Brain! _Brain!_ C'mon, lookit this!"

He was inside the store now, jumping up and down while pointing excitedly at something in another display. Brain sighed and dragged his feet, but nonetheless he was soon at his companion's side. "What is it, Pinky?"

"Aw, Brain, _loooooooooooook!!_" He grabbed the shorter man by the shoulders and nearly forced his head into the roof of the cage, his voice squealing up an octave in his excitement. "I'in't they CUTE??"

It was a cage full of small, pure white mice, each one squeaking frantically and tumbling over one another in their play. They were domestic creatures, bred by science but not as affected by it as the two figures leaning over them had been, and subsequently had no idea of any world beyond their little environment. If one among their ranks was taken away, it was accepted as a fact of life and nothing to be concerned over. Food was all that mattered to them; food and water and play. There was no need for anything more.

They were simple creatures, Brain reflected as he observed them, and their behavior was somewhat ridiculous by his standards...but, in an odd way, it was also charming.

"_Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaarf..._" Pinky gushed in an awed whisper, eyes still riveted on the sleek figures. "Were we ever as li'l as all _that?_ How'd we ever _do_ anything?"

Brain bristled indignantly. "We _managed_...we just had to be more _creative_, that's all." He flexed his fingers, feeling the muscles move more powerfully than they had in his previous form. "We didn't have to resort to the brute force that these _humans_ take for granted."

Pinky wasn't listening, instead leaning even further into the side of the cage until his nose touched the cold metal. "Y'see that one, Brain?" His voice was low and secretive. "_That_ one's my favorite."

Shaking his head, knowing that they weren't going to be leaving that shop anytime soon, Brain began wearily, "_Which_ one, P—"

"Hey, _you!_"

They both jumped at the sharp, gruff voice, and whirled around to see a large balding man in a blue vest approaching them rather quickly. "_Scat_, youse!" he barked, viciously shooing them away from the cage. "Yer scarin' the animals!"

"But—" Pinky whimpered, but was cut off as Brain grabbed his wrist and started pulling him towards the exit.

"Come, Pinky. Not only are we not wanted, we also have _other_ matters to attend to."

"But—but—but—" The boy's heels were digging into the tiled floor, and his glance was switching frantically between the cage and his companion. "Brain—_Brain_—"

"We'll be back."

...And then Pinky allowed himself to be dragged out of the store, his arm already starting to numb and his feet scuffing the floor and his face split into a huge, toothy grin. He was dragged all the way into the crowded walkway, up an escalator, and halfway across the massive length of the Ken Memorial Mall, and never once did the lanky human's expression waver, never _once_ did he utter a complaint or protest—the only thing he tried to do was wrap the Brain in a bone-crunching hug, and Brain had sidestepped that quite deftly.

"_We'll be back."_

The words weren't sour or conciliatory, as all too often they ended up. It was a simple statement of fact.

As funny as it was, Brain the mouse's mouse had gained an ounce of human kindness.

* * *

"...So you're lookin' for the 'Soundy' X-55-point-297-model VCR, circa 1995, and the 'Star-Crash' 85-6-3200-model satellite, silver-plated-chrome edition?" The beefy, ponytailed man eyed them suspiciously from behind his sunglasses, pencil hovering above his notepad.

"Yes," Brain replied professionally, trying his hardest to ignore the sounds of Pinky frolicking about with a toy spaceship just behind him. "Spare absolutely no expenses—I _must_ have them within the next three months."

The electronics salesman tapped his pad a few times, then reached around his cash register to snatch up an enormous paperback, leafing rapidly through its pages as if he had the entire contents memorized. Which he probably did, Brain reflected, but that was what made him such a powerful resource in finding that necessary equipment.

"Here we go." The thick man turned to Brain, holding the book out in front of him and tapping a picture of a small, black VCR, virtually indistinguishable from the other dozen pictures on the same page. "That the VCR yer lookin' fer?"

It had certainly looked much different with all of its inner workings rearranged, and with those dents it had gained during its rooftop escapades, but that was definitely the same model. "Yes, that's it."

Another fifty pages rifled through, and an image came up of a compact satellite dish on a thinly gleaming tower. "An' this?"

Pinky was still running around making "whoosh" noises, and this latest one came uncomfortably close to the side of Brain's head, but he managed to swat his overzealous companion away. "That _is_ the model I need, yes."

Pulling the book towards himself again, the salesman examined it a moment more, then flipped backwards through the book to gaze at a few more pages. Finally he closed it fully, placing it back down on the counter, and turned to face his customer with an incredibly serious expression.

"T' be perfectly honest with ya, Mister..."

"_Brain_," he replied automatically, then straightened as he suddenly remembered his "human" identity. "I—I mean, Brian Mouskowitz. 'Brain' is...just a nickname."

The salesman sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, Mister Mouskowitz, I really think you should get some of our newer models instead. They work _much_ better, and—"

Without any conscious decision, Brain's hands clenched into fists by his sides, trembling violently. Pinky stopped short in his play to stare incredulously at them, ears stiffening slightly.

"I don't _care_ how efficient your blasted 'newer models' might be!" Brain snapped angrily. But it wasn't _just_ anger—his voice was a barely-contained symphony of annoyance and a horrible panic. "_I—NEED—THOSE—__**MACHINES!!**_"

A short breath of silence filled the small store, and the three or so other shoppers froze in their tracks to stare curiously at this exchange.

Then the silence was broken by a short, choking laugh, which came out of the mouth of the beefy salesman. "Wh-whoa, _whoa_ there, mister," he chuckled nervously, holding both hands up as a sign of peace. "I _didn't_ mean NOTHIN' by it—I was, was just..."

He exhaled slowly, trying vainly to read either the inscrutable expression of the man before him or the perpetually-blank goggle of the man's companion. "...Look," he began again, leaning in slowly as the people around the group started hesitantly to resume their shopping, "it's just that these are some _really_ hard-to-find models, an' the cost of them ALONE is pretty steep, not t' _mention_ with all the service fees like locating some warehouse that's got 'em, or orderin' 'em special from some collector, plus the whole shipping and handling shpiel. I'm just lookin' out for your pocketbook, buddy."

"I don't _care_." Brain's teeth were gritted, and his fists so tight that his impossibly short fingernails were digging into his palms. Without those machines, the Atomic Vibrational Regulator could not be reconstructed, his basest particles could not be realigned, his real life and his real _form_ could not be reclaimed... "_No expense is too high._"

Silently, Pinky put down his spaceship and stepped forwards, placing his hands awkwardly on his friend's shoulders. "We really need it," he stated quietly. "_Pleeeeeeeeease?_"

There was another pause, and then the large salesman sighed again, passing a hand over his forehead. "At the _very least_, it'd cost ya five thousand bucks total."

"We don't care," the former mice chorused, their expressions never wavering.

"..._Fine_." The salesman crossed his arms, conceding defeat, and groaned internally about how many extensive phone calls and website browsing it was going to take to satisfy _these_ customers. "But I'm gonna need some dough up front."

Pinky blinked a moment, then piped up, "Well, there's a nice li'l bakery just around the corner here—"

"He means _money_, Pinky," interrupted the Brain firmly, reaching into his pocket and drawing out one of the wallets he'd stolen from the Acme Labs scientists. He rifled through the bills, making sure to keep the fake ID he'd made that morning visible to the salesman at all times, and finally counted out the largest amount of money he felt they could spare. "...Seventy-five...eighty...one hundred." The pile slapped down onto the counter—it'd been an immense stroke of luck that had gotten the wallets to them the day after the scientists had cashed their paychecks. "Is that sufficient?"

It took a lot of self-restraint, but somehow the electronics salesman resisted the urge to lunge forwards and stuff the entire wad into his pocket. "Y-yeah, yeah..." He began to sweat a little as he tenderly picked up the pile and reluctantly dropped it into the cash register. "I'll, um..."

"Call us the _moment_ you've found them," Brain finished for him, and proceeded to give the man the phone number of the Staldrof Wasstordia as well as the number of the room he was staying in. Then he and Pinky left, doubling back once to make sure that the money they'd handed over had _remained_ in the cash register, and finally were on their way towards the mall exit.

"_Poit!_ Five thous'nd dollars, Brain..." Pinky whistled, running a hand through his hair. "'At's a lotta money, i'in't it?"

"Compared to the amount we have in our possession now, _yes_." The Brain's tone was flat, as he was deep in thought, absently rubbing his hairless chin. "Subtract from that the fees we'll owe to the hotel, as well as the cost of food and the like, we'll never have even _half_ that much money." He groaned, throwing his head back and massaging his temples. "_Why_ must this human world be so..._avaricious?_"

"I think it's kinda fun, actu'lly," replied Pinky absently, misunderstanding the (rhetorical) question. He shoved his hands into his pockets, just because he liked the feel of it, and continued striding along—but then something caught his attention, and he stopped short. Taking no notice, Brain walked right past him.

"How to _acquire_ such funds?" he was fretting aloud, teeth biting down on his lower lip so hard that he almost drew blood. "All the resources I could use for such a scheme are back in the lab, and we cannot _possibly_ venture back there without risking being caught by the police. As well, all of that might work well for a mouse, but for a hu—for _this form?_"

"Brain," Pinky piped up. Brain ignored him.

"Counterfeiting would be _far_ too risky, with the large number of bills involved...as well, that would be another crime on our tally, and our chances of eluding the authorities with _that_ on our hands would be astronomically small..."

"_Brain_."

"...Perhaps...no, it would be too risky to try to demand 'tax returns' from the government. To them, we could not possibly 'exist', because they would have no records of us. ...Though, that hasn't stopped us _befo_—"

"**BRAIN!**"

Finally his head snapped up, and he whipped around to glare irritably at Pinky. "What _is_ it?!"

The tall human slowly raised his arm to point to a sign on the wall in front of him. "...What d'you suppose they mean by 'Help Wanted'?"


End file.
